Robert slammed the door behind him, and the sound echoed through the room. Bradley spun around where he stood by the window, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Fuckin’ girl didn’t show.” Robert threw the empty blue duffel bag straight at Bradley’s face; Bradley snatched it from the air and waited patiently for Robert to finish his rant. “I waited an extra fifteen. Some asshole prob’ly saw me and called the fuckin’ cops. Get fucked, Brad.”
Bradley admired Robert’s sweet humility, but he wasn’t going to let Robert get away with such a crude outburst. Practically corrosive on the ears. “Watch your mouth, Bob. And don’t worry about the girl or the cops. I’ve taken care of any possible contingencies, including this one. Why don’t you go in the kitchen and fix yourself a nice hot cup of coffee?”
Robert saw the look in Bradley’s eyes and immediately changed his tune. “Look, man, I’m sorry about that. It’s just–with the girl not showin’ and me havin’ to wait, I got a little worked up, is all. I’m sorry. I’m real sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Bradley nodded toward the doorway to the kitchen. Robert took the hint and walked straight to the coffeemaker, pulling a clean mug from the dish drainer as he scooted by.
As soon as Robert was out of sight, Bradley set the bag gently down on the floor at his feet. He pulled the gun from the holster strapped around his torso and turned to face the kitchen. When Robert came back, he would find a nice dose of lead to go with his hot, fresh coffee.